The Making of a Man
by Serpentine Phoenix
Summary: One-Shot: A short fic that follows our hero on a little moral quest and you get to see a dark side. Hope you enjoy...


**Please read the AN at the bottom of the page if you are a reader of Ethereal Flame. Thanks.**

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The Making of a Man

He was an outcast amongst the students of Hogwarts; his professors pretending not to notice. Sure, his name was spoken throughout the wizarding world, but as he became more enamoured in magic, his peers began to exalt him. It was really in the last year that he had started to exceed in his studies and as a result, further distance himself from other students. Before that, he was more or less average at magic; but that was also before It happened.

It was over summer when staying with his relatives for safety, what with a Dark Lord on the loose, that It happened. He was sleeping at the time, at the time when his magic matured. The collision and merging of him and his dormant magic devastated his room and his non-magical possessions. That was when he first started to realise; he was Powerful.

... Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, January, 6th Year

The dark-haired young man ran swiftly through the corridor, tears staining his cheeks and anger burning in his heart and lungs. He was heading for his sanctuary, to the topmost tower of the school where he could be alone. Alone. That was all he seemed to be these days. As a matter of fact, just now he was running from a fight with his best friends. They accused him of ignoring them, but they didn't understand; he had power. He was always testing himself. He was always pushing the boundaries... always alone.

When he reached the tower, he perched himself upon an outer ledge, sheets of rain covering him in a film of glossy water and the stone carvings shifting about him as his eyes became obscured by the deceptive magic of water. Alone. He was alone and he needn't hide and suppress his power as he had to around the student body.

The rain as it fell around him quivered as he released his hold over his magic. His power swam through him and swirled around him, yet he was the calmer for it; the eye within a magnificent storm. His distress at the moment drove his magic and the swirls of power soon turned violent, though with him always safe within himself. The stone ledge he was balanced on started to chip; the rain was being commanded as if caught in a vicious wind; all of it, a result of his innate power.

... A week later, defence against the dark arts corridor, 11 p.m.

The dark-haired teenager, so powerful yet so young, stalked the stone pathway. His cloak billowed about him, his hood covered his face and his silky locks of hair fell about his piercing eyes. His magic enveloped him freely, unchecked and uncontained. His presence filled the corridor and his dark cause was reflected in his spectre-like appearance.

For many months now he had known of a student who was one of the Dark Lord's followers and he knew from his visions that this particular student was roaming the halls this night, trying to gather information on some of the professors that held true to the Light. Yes, tonight, he would rid the world of at least one of its leaches. Wand in hand, he silently approached his blonde-haired prey.

With one silent flick of his wand, a hair-raising wave of magic pulsed from the tip and swept the body of his victim, carrying it into the stone wall at the end of the corridor; the wall breaking from the impact. In a way, the destruction he had so easily caused was oddly graceful with a sinister beauty.

Gliding now towards his fallen adversary, he towered over the weakling below and although it went unseen on his shadowed face, a smirk graced his features. His wand was now pointed at the heart of his unconscious foe, and all he had to do was say those words, just two words and he would cleanse the world, if only a little of it.

In that moment, he became weak with compassion; he couldn't kill him. He knew he did ghastly things to innocents, or at least supported such things and he had the power to kill him... but he couldn't.

It was then, when he was stood over his enemy with the choice to kill, that Albus Dumbledore set himself onto the path to become the man he is today.

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**AN:** This is not related to my other work; it's just something I am doing to get my creative juices flowing in preparation to carry on with my main fic – Ethereal Flame. If you are a reader of my main fic, then I apologise for not updating in ages, but the next chapter is on its way in a few days, thanks,

SP.


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